


I Forget Where We Were

by woodwind



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6397543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodwind/pseuds/woodwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't start out of spite. Written for the DA kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Forget Where We Were

**Author's Note:**

> The OP asked for Solas sleeping around to distract himself from breaking up with Lavellan, so the Solas/Lavellan pairing is only in the background for this one. Also, I don't plan on writing a sequel, so please stop asking.

It didn't start out of spite.

No, never spite, for he is the only one to blame for all this, for letting his feelings cloud his vision, if only for a moment. It won't end in spite, he swears, just as he swore not to let it happen again, yet here he is, with a woman moaning into his mouth, one hand fumbling around his cock. Her tugs are short, sporadic, her palm dry against his skin.

"Turn around," he says into her ear, both hands on her hips before she can properly respond. Without finesse, he flips her skirts over her hips, runs one finger down the seam of her cunt, already wet despite their short time together. She moans, arches her back further into his touch, cries out again when he plunges two fingers into her.

There's the sound of drunken singing somewhere below, but he ignores it; they're in enough shadow that there's little chance of being seen by the tavern-goers below. The woman - he's forgotten her name already - looks back at him from over one shoulder. She wiggles her ass, trying to ease his fingers further into her.

He obliges, perhaps with a little too crudely, jerking them inside her with brutal pumps of his wrist. She has to clap one hand over her mouth to stifle her moans, eyes screwing shut, her head hanging between her elbows.

Solas takes his cock, rubs it a few times between her folds to slick it, doesn't wait for a response before he rocks forward, sinking into her with one stroke. He groans under his breath, dipping his head to rest it against her shoulders. Her smell is different, stronger, like hay and dirt after the rain. He focuses on this, clings to it as he pulls out and pushes back in, on the differences between the woman he's fucking against the barn wall and _her._ The woman moans, gasps, fucks back into him eagerly, her backside slapping against his hips, her shoes scraping against the ground. Another difference for him to cleave to.

It doesn't last long. He fucks into her a few more times, rubs her clit until she comes, clenching sweetly around him. There's sweat dripping down his nose when he pulls out to spill carelessly over her thighs, watching his come drip between her knees and into the dirt.

She turns, moves as if to kiss him. He stops her with a few fingers against her lips, kisses her cheek instead, murmuring a spell against her skin, to be sure nothing grows in her womb despite not spilling inside her. She offers him a smile, a wink, and disappears back into the gloom of Skyhold.

Solas breathes in the night air, sharp as it is with the smell of sex, tucks himself back into his breeches, and heads toward his quarters. He sleeps that night filled with visions of another, not some serving girl with different eyes, he dreams of her, as he has since he left her all those nights ago.

/

The next woman wears her hair up.

He has his hands in it as she kneels before him, unlacing his trousers with calloused fingers. She hums happily as his cock is freed, wastes little time in running her tongue over the head, down the shaft, until he's hard and heavy, until he hisses for her to stop before he spends.

Her smile is coy, playful, doesn't last long as he dips his head to bite her throat. Her hands push up his back between his tunic, claws at his shoulders as he presses her against the wall. He had taken her to the first empty corridor they could find, the roof leaking, the rug beneath their feet worn and threadbare. It matters little; he's not here to dazzle her. Not that she minds, if her eager pants in his ear are anything to go by.

"Fuck me," she begs, rubbing her breasts, constrained as they are, against his chest. He hums in response, cupping her sex in his palm, feeling her shudder against him, rocking her hips into his grasp. His fingers make a wet noise when they enter her, curling them up, pulling more than pushing against that soft spot inside. She bites the collar of his tunic to muffle her groans, both hands reaching down to cup his ass.

Solas hisses in surprise but doesn't stop her, lets her wrap her thighs around his hips, take his cock in her hand. She sighs something like a name when he enters her, sliding easily up and in, her fingernails digging into him. Solas braces his palms against the stone wall, angling his hips to take her weight on his legs, and begins to fuck her, fast and hard, until she's all but bouncing in his lap.

Her hair is a mess when she comes. Twice, even, with his thumb stroking her clit and his teeth in her neck, her fingernails raking down his back. When she stops shaking, he eases her down, pulling out of her, still hard and throbbing. She grins at him, shoos his hands away when he tries to finish himself.

He comes down her throat with a shout, her hair in his hands. She thanks him, licks his seed from her lips, doesn't stop him when he presses the flat of his palm against her belly to cast the same spell as he did with the others. She doesn't move to kiss him before she leaves.

/

He forgets the details of the next women after that.

One takes him to the servant's quarters, lets him fuck her over a table, his hands squeezing her ass, so unlike him to do this so roughly, no foreplay or care for the other's pleasure. He won't delude himself into thinking any of these women feel anything for him, which is exactly what he wants.

He's had enough of feeling, when he still dreams of her each night, of the look on her face when he drew away from her. Can still hear her calling his name, even as the woman he's screwing moans into his mouth.

Another woman straddles him over a chair. It creaks as she rides him, ungraceful, sloppy, but so well, as if she knows just the right way to cant her hips to draw out the most pleasure for them both. She comes with more of a whisper than a groan, sucks his earlobe until he comes, too.

Solas doesn't know how long this goes on, or how many women he has. Enough that, for a time, he stops dreaming of her, stops thinking of her when his mind slows down. But it becomes more difficult with each passing night; he doesn't remember the last time she's invited him on a mission, let alone spoken with him, even in public.

He deserves it, he knows, so he takes another woman, leads her into a corner of the wine cellar and licks her cunt until she nearly screams with the pleasure, but before either of them can progress, the door to the cellar opens -

Solas feels every line in his body go taught, his blood running cold even as it flows in his veins.

Vivienne says nothing to either of them, not even when the serving girl offers her a clumsy curtsy and scrambles out the door. It shuts with a final clang behind her.

Solas and Vivienne stare at one another, and Solas is thankful only that he managed to pull his breeches up in time. A fine muscle in Vivienne's jaw ticks, her brows rise clear to her hairline, but still, she says nothing, only reaches to one side to pull a bottle of wine from one of the many racks.

She doesn't need to say anything. Her judgement of him is clear. Solas can't find it in himself to care. Not when he goes to bed alone that night, not when he accidentally runs into Vivienne in the hall the following morning, not when she beckons him to a more private area with a silent nod.

"First, my dear," Vivienne begins, not bothering to disguise the venom in her voice, "I have not told anyone about what I saw. In fact, I'm unsure if I _should_ tell anyone, aside from the Inquisitor. But that is not my place, however much I care for her."

Solas grits his teeth.

"Instead, I would suggest you tell her, sooner rather than later; the longer you..." she licks her lips, as if testing the words before she speaks them, "carry on the way you are, the harder it will be to confess, in the end. That, I think, would be best for both of you."

Vivienne spares him one last, frosty glance, before she's out the door, like so many others.

Solas never tells her.


End file.
